


Getting It Right

by WillowTea



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Bullying, Dark, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowTea/pseuds/WillowTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napleon Sowachowski, Sock, was tasked a year ago with haunting the human teenager, Jonathan Combs, and getting him to commit suicide. For the most part, Sock has been messing around with Jonathan and they’ve become friends. But one day, Jonathan offends Sock and Sock makes the biggest mistake of the year that might just save his job, but not Jonathan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close the Door

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't really have much relationship in it. But there will be some hints toward it. This is the darker of the fan fictions I have, but you can't really expect a Welcome to Hell fic to be bright and cheery ^^'

“Jonathan, get up!” There was a high pitched whine in my ear early that morning, the morning where everything went downhill. I knew who it was before I even had to open my eyes. It came from the air above my left ear, the one not against my pillow. Either my little sister had walked into my room and could float, or it was Sock.

“Go away, Sock. I’m trying to sleep.” I groaned, pulling the blankets up over my ear and curling into a ball. Just under a year ago, Sock showed up at the bus stop to school and began following me around. He was supposed to be haunting me, I guess. Trying to make me kill myself. But after Sock arrived, life actually got better. I didn’t feel as lonely, people still picked on my, but not as much. They thought I was the weirdo with the ghost. Which I sort of was. Sock fought some of my battles for me, the ones I couldn’t win. It scared all the bullies and life began looking up.

The only thing Sock couldn’t change is how much my parents fought. They never stopped; it still scared me to hear them yell that loudly. But at least they were mad at each other and not mad at me.

“But Jonathan, you’re going to be late for school.” This got my attention. I threw the blankets off of myself shot out of my bed, launching myself toward my dresser, only to trip on the clothes I had left lying all over the floor. There was a snicker from the air above my bed and I grabbed the nearest shoe and flung it in that direction.

Instead of hitting Sock, it flew right through him. He was only tangible when he wanted to be, and clearly he didn’t want to be. This action made him laugh louder. I growled at him as I grabbed a pair of jeans and began pulling them on. I hadn’t turned on the lights, so the bright red of my clock blazed through the darkness reading, quite clearly: 4:30 A.M.

I froze. 

“Sock, I’m gonna kill you.” I growled, flinging myself onto my bed. Sock floated out of my way and closer to the ceiling, even though he knew I couldn’t grab him if he willed himself intangible. 

“But Jonathan, I’m already dead.” He laughed hysterically from his position on the ceiling. I rolled over onto my back and kicked a foot at him. My leg wasn’t quite long enough to reach him and simply sailed close to his face. He laughed again, but by this time I had closed my eyes and let my leg fall back to the bed. 

For a while there was no noise and not long after I found myself falling asleep again. What felt like moments later my alarm went off and this time I knew it wasn’t Sock messing around with me. 

Opening my eyes, I rolled onto my side to look into the bright lights of my clock which read: 6:30, the correct time of day that I needed to wake up at to get ready in the morning.

“Jonathan! Get up and shut that thing off, already! You’re going to wake your sister!” The yell came from down the stairs and was female. My mom was a very impatient woman. I slammed my hand into the alarm clock, jamming a finger against the wall across from me. Cursing under my breath I slid out of bed and pulled on a shirt and my sweatshirt. 

“Hehe, looks like you’re up on time.” Sock teased manifesting from I had no idea where. I didn’t know what he did when I was asleep. I didn’t even know if he could sleep, because for the most part he occasionally picked on me in the middle of the night just for kicks and giggles. During the summer we stayed up at night together. I never slept during the night over the summer; it was easier to avoid my family that way.

I grabbed my backpack off the floor and swung it at him. It went straight through him, as I had expected, and thudded against the ceiling instead.

“Jonathan! Quit making so much noise and get down here already!” Sometimes I wondered how she didn’t think her yelling would wake Mary up. Growling to myself I shuffled down the stairs, grabbing my headphones from the living room couch as I headed toward the kitchen. I never brushed my teeth or did my hair, I figured since no one cared about me, no one would be paying any attention to my hygiene. 

Except Sock.

“Jonathan, you should brush your teeth. You’re going to get cavities if you don’t.” He whined, following me down the stairs. He said the same thing every day. ‘Brush your teeth,’ ‘do your hair,’ ‘wear something new.’ Every day it was the same thing. It was annoying, but I found comfort in the routine that was only worried for my well being and not the fact that waking my sister would create a living nightmare.

“Shut up, you’re not my mom.” I said as I set my bag down next to the kitchen table. My mom turned around at this and promptly smacked me on the face. Sock had been with me for almost a year and yet I still forgot no one else could see or hear him and I responded to him at the worst possible moments. 

“I am too your mother and you will not use that tone with me, mister.” Her tone was angry and I knew I had screwed up the entire day just by saying those words. I’d come home and she would continue to treat me like crap. 

“Sorry mom.” I said and she nodded as if I had pleased her enough to survive the morning. Which was basically what had actually happened. 

The rest of the morning I spent sitting at the table, ignoring Sock, and eating breakfast. He sat there with his eyes on me as if he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t quite remember what. It made me want to scream at him and ask him what the heck his problem was, but I knew it would only infuriate my mother further, so I had to refrain from the whole yelling-at-the-ghost-that-was-haunting-me thing. It was really, really hard.

Luckily, I managed to do it and make it out of the house before my mom could say anything else to me. I was safe for the rest of the day, since people at school had begun leaving me alone for being a weirdo. It was pleasant and peaceful, being ignored; I don’t know why people wanted to have all the attention on them. It was intimidating being popular and luckily, I wasn’t. 

“So, any plans for today?” Sock had begun running out of things to say to me. He didn’t know anything other than what had been when he was alive, and even then he had been extremely out of the social loop due to being a murderer. Of course, I was as much out of the social loop as he was, though I did have a foot in the music loop, but not enough to be noticed.

“Nope.” I answered, which was the usual answer when he asked that kind of question. He should have known at that point that I didn’t do anything except go to school and stay at home. Though I did spend extra time at the library on most school days to avoid going home early. Mostly to finish some homework and play a few games, but otherwise to just generally avoid home. 

“C’mon, Jonathan! You have to do something.” Sock insisted as the bus began to pull up, five minutes late. The bus was never on time, but that didn’t bug me. I had some getting ready leeway time, though most of the time I didn’t need it. 

“Like what? Get my butt whooped after school every day?” I asked, stepping up into the bus halfheartedly, earning a weird look from the bus driver. She was less used to my talking to myself since most of the time Sock and I only spoke to each other after we had already gotten on the bus. 

“Of course not!” Sometimes I wondered why Sock cared so much for me. He seemed to think I should go on living a good life but his job was to get me to kill myself. He was doing a lousy job at it and I kept catching him talking to himself about how he’s was going to run out of time. But apparently there were yet to be consequences for when he did run out of time, so for the moment he told himself that he could do whatever he wanted to.

That meant being my mom, apparently.

“Sock, you know as well as I do that anything I try to do will only earn me a good black eye.” I responded, sitting down on one of the bus seats and tucking my backpack onto my lap. As usual, Sock joined me and pouted where he was. A few people glance in my direction, sending glares as if I’m the epitome of evil. Honestly, they were glaring right through what should have been the epitome of evil. 

“Well, it’s worth a try, right?” Honestly, he was so kind about everything. I never understood why he was so. Freaking. Nice. He was supposed to make me despise myself. Kill myself. But instead he made me want to live longer. To enjoy life more. I was determined to finish school and start college because Sock was there to make me feel better. If I could push through the rest of my miserable senior year, I could graduate and start college too far away from home to stay. I’d scrape by on my own. Maybe even change my attitude and make some real friends. 

Sock changed my outlook on life and I was ready to change too.

Just as soon as I was done with school. 

I didn’t answer Sock the entire way to school. He knew what the answer was and he didn’t need to hear it from my mouth. I would never involve myself in anything the other students did; it was stupid and gave them further reason to pick on me. My life had gone quiet since he had arrived and I didn’t want to take his advice and reverse that. It would be impossible to go back to it.

The bus arrived at school and we all hopped off. A few people pushed and shoved me and made me wait until the last person had gotten off, but I still didn’t mind. A little pushing didn’t hurt me, so I could handle it. I kept telling myself, five more months and I was done. I’d go to college and leave them all behind. I’d never see them again.

This was my thought that morning.

School had never been very interesting for me. I passed my classes well enough to get into a decent college, but everyone always found a way to get me into trouble with the teacher. After Sock arrived, he did all the work for them. 

In science he bumped the beaker off the counter and onto the floor on accident when he tried to scoot closer to me to see what I was doing. It was empty, but my teacher wrote up a bill to pay for it for me to take home to my parents. 

In math he was playing with one of my pencils when he flung it off the desk and it went further than he thought, hitting someone in the back of the head with the tip. He shied away as if they were going to blame him and the teacher gave me a good old elementary school scolding about poking someone’s eye out.

During English we were reading aloud from Heart of Darkness when Sock stood up and knocked into me. I shouted at him to watch it, using a few choice words, and was warned about getting detention if it happened one more time.

Sometimes I wonder if he really has control over his tangibility.

P.E. was actually mostly normal, which was a good thing since I didn’t want to piss off my team mates in the game we were playing. Sports were known to bring out the worst in people, so remaining on their good side was priority.

In pottery he touched the spinning wheel and it began to go faster, flinging bits of wet clay around the room. My teacher told me to control my lead foot and work on hand molding until I understood what he meant. 

While in History he pulled at the maps walking into the classroom and smacked the student who came in behind me. Once again I got a good old elementary school scolding from the teacher and Sock stood off to the side apologizing to me so often I didn’t hear what the teacher said and then got scolded for that.

In my Spanish class Sock tried pronouncing the words the teacher gave us but kept getting them wrong and saying inappropriate things unintentionally. This made me laugh and then I had to stand and tell the class what was so funny. In Spanish.

Sock always enjoyed my graphic design class. He had discovered a few months ago that he could affect the way computers worked and made my class time a living nightmare as he messed up every computer I sat at. This happened every day. And yet my teacher insisted I try a different computer until I had ruined three or four and then he made me watch over someone else’s shoulder.

So school wasn’t a complete living nightmare like home was. It was just a bother, especially with Sock around. I survived the day to day and I knew Sock wasn’t always doing it intentionally. There were only moments when he was. 

Like the moment after graphic design.

I shuffled toward my locker, slipping my headphones on to warn away those who might actually try to approach me. There were a few of those who liked showing they ‘cared’ and tried doing ‘charity’ by helping me work through my issues. I worked my issues out completely, thank you very much. So I shooed them away with a cold glare and my music up loud enough you could hear the tinny sound of guitar if you stood close enough.

“Jonathan, your hair is a mess.” Of course, I could always hear Sock through my music. It was as if I heard his voice in my head and not through my ears. Over the loud rock music, it was soothing and gentle. But I didn’t really want to hear what he was about to rant about.

“Pssh, yeah, like yours is any better.” I joked, opening my locker to grab the text books I would need for homework and then put away the ones I wouldn’t need. Sock gaped at me like a fish out of water. He was turning red, which was pretty entertaining to watch because he was a ghost – demon? – and he was kind of transparent.

“Don’t insult my hair.” Sock muttered, looking injured. But Sock was always picking on me. I didn’t see why I didn’t so this sooner. Sock was always messing with me and trying to make me kill myself. But he still had very human emotions and I could pick on him just as much.

“Right. Because you have every right to insult mine. What did you do, find a dead rabbit on the side of the road and place it on your head?” I asked with amusement in my voice as I zipped up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder, closing my locker door with it as it swung around. Sock was very, very red at this point, but his look was no longer hurt, but anger.

“Jonathan, stop. You’re being mean.” Sometimes I wanted to ask how old he was. I had always assumed he was a high schooler but he tended to look small and innocent, almost to the point of elementary school. But he was too tall for that.

“And you’re not? You insult me all the time, why can’t I insult the mop you call hair?” I asked, watching him tug nervously at the sides of his hat. His face was practically burning by that point and I was afraid that if I touched it I would burn my hand. 

“It’s my job to be mean, Jonathan. I’m supposed to get you to kill yourself.” Sock growled, looking anywhere but at me. He scanned the area immediately around us, even doing a full three-sixty before resuming his position facing me.

“You’re not doing a very good job, fluffy.” I spat, slinging the other strap of my bag over my other shoulder. Something in Sock’s face cracked. I knew I had been angering him with the other comments; that had been the point. But now he looked positively furious. I had never even seen my parents that angry.

Without a word Sock floated backward, his eyes never leaving mine. I furrowed my brow in confusion, watching him as he backed toward the locker five away from mine, which was surrounded by a bunch of people I didn’t recognize right off the bat. He reached out his hand to the side, where the locker stood open.

“What are you-“ I started, but was cut off when Sock slammed the locker shut. Only it didn’t shut. There had been a person standing behind the locker, talking loudly with the group of friends standing around him. The locker smacked him hard in the back of the head and then bounced back open. Everyone froze in place and watched him carefully. No one moved. 

The guy rubbed the back of his head, but I couldn’t see much of him anymore because the locker had bounced back to being half open. But from the absolute silence from his friends and the fact that the entire rest of the hallway was watching, this was not going to turn out good. 

“Who did that?” The bow growled this as he turned his body to face his friends. Everyone looked around frantically to find someone to blame. Of course, other than his friends, I was the closest one to his locker.

So I was the first on their list.

“It was Combs.” One of them said, pointing behind him toward me. It was like a gun pointed right at my head and for a moment I was actually afraid. But it was just a locker. Just another trick Sock played. It would result in a beating, a few spits at my face, and then life would resume once again.

Only it wouldn’t.

“Combs?” It wasn’t a question of who I was. Everyone knew who I was. I was the weirdo who talked to himself. Who always screwed up and made school a little more interesting. The one everyone loved to pick on and tease. He knew who I was. He was silently asking why I had done that. Despite the things Sock did, a lot of the time the things I did were never intentional and most people knew that. Especially the best of them. 

And Marcus Briggs was the best of them all.

Tall Briggs Jr. turned toward me from his position five feet away. He was intimidating in size alone, rounding about six foot four with wide shoulders and a stone solid jaw. He had pale blue eyes and dark brown hair – dyed – that contrasted each other dramatically to provide an even more intimidating appearance. He was the starting quarterback on the football team and the entire school loved him and he loved the entire school.

At that moment, he didn’t love me.

I watched in fear as tall Marcus Briggs walked right up to me and looked me in the eye. I wasn’t much shorter than him, just a few inches, but a few inches was a lot in close quarters. 

“Did you just slam that locker on my head?” He asked. To most it wouldn’t have sounded menacing. Just curious. To me, it sounded very, very menacing.

“N-no! I would never do that!” I protested, backing up a step out of fear. The entire hallway had frozen in a crowd around the two of us. It was a crude semi circle of interested faces. Some of the younger ones looked frightened. The others looked enthralled. Freshmen either enjoyed or feared fights.

“Are you lying to me?” He asked, his intimidating air not changing or shifting. It all kind of happened in a slow motion reel. His voice got lower and more intimidating like the stereotypical bad guy in a movie.

“Not at all! Why would I lie-“ I was cut off by his hand grabbing the side of me head. It wasn’t a caring caress – luckily – like you see in movies but a harsh grab – unluckily – that held me in place.

Then he slammed my head into the locker beside me.

“It better not happen again.” He stated simply before turning around and walking back toward his friends. Slamming his locker shut the group left the hallway, most of them turning around to shoot glares, spit at me, or take pictures.

As soon as they were gone the hallway came to life.

People buzzed about it left and right. Some of them had videoed it all on their phones. Those who hadn’t were watching the whole thing over again over their friends’ shoulders. Those whose friends weren’t in the hallway posted it online and it went viral almost immediately. I was glad I wasn’t online or else I would have been blown to pieces by the whole thing. 

“Jonathan?” Someone was saying my name. I knew someone was saying my name but I wasn’t sure where it was coming from or if I was just hallucinating. I hadn’t move from where my head had rebounded. There was a headache splitting through my skull at that moment. Maybe I was imaging the voice.

“Jonathan, are you okay?” Alright, I wasn’t. Turning my head slowly I looked to where Sock floated tentatively. His face was pale, the complete opposite to what it had been only minutes earlier. I had to think this question through thoroughly. Was I okay? I pressed my hand against the side of my head. It was sore, just a touch sent pinpricks through my skull. But when I pulled my head away there was no blood. The ringing in my ear had died down. I was okay.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I responded, grabbing the straps of my backpack to steady the violent shaking in my hands. Slowly I walked through the hallways to the exit, heading down the road to the public library. Everyone I passed looked at me as if I had just killed someone. Some of them tssked in my direction. Some even spat at me. A few stuck their feet out in front of me to trip me up, though I never actually fell.

Sock floated behind me, afraid to come too close. I wasn’t sure if I was going to blow up at him, or if I was okay to have his company. Not that he ever left me. Sometime he just kept his distance. He didn’t know how I was going to react, so he chose to stay back.

The library was quiet, which was wonderful. No noise, not a lot of people, no students from my school to interrupt. I got through most of my homework before my phone dinged. I knew the sound as my text notification noise, though I rarely got texts and it was normally from my parents or Mary. I wondered what was wrong.

The number was unknown.

‘Why did you have to hurt Briggs like that? You should just go die in a hole.’ 

I stared blankly at the screen. How had this person gotten my number? I didn’t move, I was frozen in place. So when my phone dinged again I jumped.

Another unknown number.

‘Briggs didn’t deserve to be hit like that. Kill yourself, scum.’

And then again.

‘Die, lying son of a-‘ And on, and on, and on. Eventually I turned the sound off because people around me where giving me dirty looks. But the texts kept coming, and coming. It was a dam someone had broken down and the flood was just beginning to pour out. By the time I had decided to head home, I had three hundred messages from people I didn’t know. 

The whole way home they kept coming and coming. I felt my phone vibrate with each text. The next one was always worse than the last. Most of them told me to kill myself. Some of them asked why I was alive. A few wondered how I could be so cruel. One threatened to kill me themselves.

I walked in the door, frozen emotionally. I had malfunctioned and there was no telling when I would reboot. But there was no choice because I was instantly bombarded by both my parents. They were yelling and screaming, but this time, they agreed on something.

“What did you do!?” My mother screamed, thundering toward me as soon as she heard the door shut. My father was right behind her. His type of angry was calm, like a coming storm. It was more frightening than my mother.

“N-nothing.” I stuttered quietly, afraid to be any louder. I was still broken from the texts; getting yelled at by my mother and stared at by my father was preventing me from bouncing back like I usually did.

“You hit someone with a locker, Jonathan. That’s not ‘nothing’.” His voice was so calm and yet, there was something extremely furious behind it. Living with him my whole life told me he was beyond reasoning. 

“Wha-what? Where did-where did you hear that?” I squeaked out, afraid to look away from my mom in case she made a move. My dad’s look was too much anyway, I didn’t want to look him in the eyes.

“Your sister said a friend at school has an older brother who got attacked by a boy at his school who calls himself a comb.” The words sounded like something one of Mary’s friends would say in the exact phrasing she would say it. Marcus had a sister? 

“Explain yourself.” It was a very straight forward command, but I had no words. I hadn’t done it; I know I hadn’t done it. But no one had seen who had and no one would believe it was one of his friends. I was the only suspect. My case was closed.

“I didn’t do it. I swear.” I responded, my voice getting stronger for only a few seconds before I saw the look on my mom’s face harden. I knew what was coming. Even preparing myself didn’t make the slap feel any better.

“Now go up to your room and think about telling the truth.” She hissed at me. I listened without hesitation, racing up the stairs and into my room. I closed the door behind me and dropped my backpack to the ground. Leaning against the door I looked up at the blank ceiling above me. Then I slid to the floor, drawing my knees in close and wrapping my arms around them. I dropped my head into the gap between my chest and my knees and sighed a shaky breath.

“Jonathan?” It was Sock again. He happened to disappear every time someone began yelling at me. He never helped me fight the more dangerous fights. I think his logic was that it would only make it worse for something to happen when no one could see who was doing it. But a part of me wanted him to intervene, just so I could get out of it. I sobbed, my body shaking with the action. “Jonathan? A-are you alright?” He asked, and I felt a hand rest on my shoulder.

I looked up and right into his eyes, tears streaming down my face. He looked shocked at first, but then fear took over the features and he, too, began crying.

“Sock, what have you done?”


	2. Throw the Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After making a mistake that could get Jonathan killed, Sock comes up with a solution to all their problems. If this works, Jonathan's life will go back to normal. Or so they think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided this one's short. It's pretty fun to write angst and hurt.

“Jonathan, get down here!” The words came through my mind in a swamp of noises that took forever to connect together. It was like they had to swim through thick water before they could get to my brain and I realized it was because I had fallen asleep.

Groggily I raised my head to find Sock sleeping against my shoulder. There wasn’t any feeling there, Sock really didn’t give off any heat or cold. But he looked like he had fallen asleep, which was weird, because I was pretty sure he had told me he couldn’t sleep like I could. Maybe he was just resting his eyes. 

Looking up at my dark ceiling I realized I had a headache. It split my head like a sculpture using a chisel to shape my skull. I cringed under the pain but didn’t do anything to stop it. I felt I deserved it after the day I had just had. Nothing felt better than the pain being inflicted because I had just cried myself to sleep.

There was a bang on the door, at which both Sock and I jumped. I rose to my feet so quickly my brain took too long to process that there was little to no feeling in either leg, so I collapsed back to the ground in a crumpled heap. The door before me flung open and my mom stormed into the room.

“You come when I call you, mister.” With rough, strong hands she grabbed me by my arm and dragged me out of my room almost without the use of my own legs. It hurt going down the stairs because at this point I had gained partial feeling back in my legs and pinpricks were dancing up each limb with every bump of the stairs. When we reached the downstairs she dragged me into the kitchen and threw me into one of the chairs at the table. 

I nearly fell out of the chair she had thrown me into but managed to catch myself in time to keep from falling on the ground. Quickly I straightened out to find I wasn’t the only one sitting at the table. My dad was sitting across from me and Mary to my right. My mom took the last seat to my left and crossed her arms over her chest, ready to give a lecture on how disappointed she was. 

“Now that you’ve had some time to think, we’re going to ask you again. Why did you slam the locker into that boys head?” She demanded, looking very much like the bad cop in this situation. I knew this would keep going until I confessed. A part of me wanted to tell them it was me. That I had been in a bad mood at the time. 

“He didn’t do anything! It was me! I’m so sorry, Jonathan! I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Sock protested loudly, his voice hurting my head and making my flinch. My mother snorted at this flinch, but not at what Sock said. Because no matter how hard Sock tried, no one was ever going to hear him and it would only make my situation worse if I responded in front of my family.

“I didn’t so it! I was just getting stuff out of my locker.” I protested, not nearly as loudly as Sock had, but enough that I could see my dad’s shoulders tense and my mom straighten up. Mary snorted like mom had and rolled her eyes at me. I realized she had out a coloring book and was scribbling messily on the picture. Clearly she wasn’t paying any attention, but she had said something to our parents to allow her to sit in on this conversation. Maybe they thought she wouldn’t listen if she was coloring. I hated how much she got away with.

“There were plenty of other students who said you were the only one close enough to do it.” My dad spoke too softly for an angry man, which was what scared me the most. He was calm in the worst situations and it frightened me.

“Plus, Mary’s friend clearly said it was you.” I snapped my head toward my mom, my eyes widened in shock. All she had said earlier was that Mary’s friend said a person who called themselves a comb had done it. That didn’t necessarily mean it was me, though it was hard to pin it on someone else since I didn’t know who else called themselves a comb. 

“How can you believe her? She wasn’t even there!” I protested, scooting forward in my seat to emphasize my exasperation on this point. My mom didn’t seem even the slightest bit phased by what I was saying an my dad didn’t look like he cared a single wink about my opinion.

“Missy says her brother never lies.” Mary spoke so matter-of-factly that our parents couldn’t help but smile and nod and agree with her. In their eyes, Mary could do no wrong. I didn’t understand how it had come to be that way. Maybe it was because they were tired of having me as a son. 

“See? But you do, Jonathan, and I don’t appreciate that you’re lying right now.” My father was the one speaking, and it was weird hearing any kind of emotion in his voice. It was mostly joy that his little girl had told the truth while his grown son hadn’t. Then it dissipated as he finished the statement and became, once again, disappointed in me.

“We’re going to have a parent conference tomorrow with the principal. We will all sit together and tell her what exactly happened. By then I hope you think to not lie to us.” My mom said frankly, looking down on me as if I were a piece of trash that had missed the garbage can and she had to pick me up to try again. 

“Yeah.” I muttered, but this wasn’t enough and it infuriated her some more. I never dodged when my mother hit me. The one time I had done that I had ended up with worse bruises than the one on my face. At this point my bruises were no longer visible, so enduring the pain was fine with me, just as long as she didn’t hit me anywhere else.

“Now go to your room. And don’t make me wake you up in the morning.” This was my cue to leave. I trudged toward the stairs, feeling the pain in my arm where she had dragged me from my room by and the slap still fresh on my face. I knew Sock was behind me and he seemed to be half angry and half worried. The look on his face said he wasn’t sure how to feel and didn’t know what to do with himself. 

I made it up the stairs slowly and shut my door behind myself quietly. I didn’t want to do anything to irritate them more, they were already ready to beat me. Slowly I slid down the door like I had earlier and dropped my head into my hands. But this time, it was out of exhaustion and not depression. I was so tired from the day I had just had. I didn’t even know what time it was. I had gotten home around four but I had fallen asleep.

“Jonathan, will you be okay?” Sock asked this quietly, as if it would hurt me to say those words. I didn’t know how to answer him. Life had never gotten this bad. I had never felt this injured. I had never felt so ready to quit. But I knew it would have to start looking up eventually. No rollercoaster stayed on the ground for long. 

But sometimes, my life was the kiddie coaster. The highs were never high enough.

“What time is it?” I asked instead. Sock didn’t seem to mind not getting an answer right away and floated higher into the air as I lifted my head to look into the dark room. I hadn’t turned on the lights and there was no more sunlight coming in through the window. Just darkness.

“Ten.” Was the response as he came floating back down to me, sitting crisscross before me with a guilty look on his face. He was blaming himself for the whole thing. The truth was, he was right. He had started it in the first place. He had been the one to slam the locker door into Marcus’ head at school.

But I had been the one to insult him.

“It’s pretty late.” I muttered, though we both knew it wasn’t late at all. I didn’t want to move or change positions. I wasn’t comfortable, but I was sure that I deserved to be uncomfortable. If I couldn’t sleep, then I suffered more. Like all those texts had said. I deserved to suffer. To die. But it had just been a locker. It wasn’t like I had seriously injured him.

People were just looking for an excuse to bully me.

Since I was little people didn’t like me. Most of the time it was my appearance. I was indifferent about how I looked, so I wore bland clothes with no emotion. Kids thought I looked stupid, some picked on my hair, my mouth. I never minded that, my appearance wasn’t what mattered. It was my pride that I cared about. I still cared about it more than anything.

The day people learned my pride was my weakest point was in eighth grade. They picked on my hair, my clothes, and everything like usual. Nothing bothered me the whole day until I reached P.E. As usual we played a game. There wasn’t much to do in P.E. and we were in the basketball unit anyway. 

Some kid, I don’t even remember his name, told me he could probably make a three point shot before me. I told him three pointers weren’t very hard, I had had plenty of practice time alone in the park while I waited for my parents to pick me up. So it was on. And, as you can probably see where this story was going, he made it first. He laughed in my face about it and at first I was mostly able to keep my cool. 

Until I missed three shots in a row.

He laughed at me some more and soon the entire class had joined in. I was furious. Clearly fuming they all laughed at how scared they were of me.

And then I attacked him.

I don’t remember my about the rest of the day except that I got an in school suspension and a good beating from my mom. It had been the first time I learned that everyone truly saw me as worthless. I had avoided most competitions since then, but it was hard to do when everyone I knew went to the same high school and challenged everything I stood for an enjoyed. 

“You should get some rest.” I snapped out of my memories at the sound of Sock’s voice. He was right. Despite how early it was, the day I had just had had drained me of all energy and I was in no mood to stay awake, even if I believed I deserved the feeling of being tired.

Without even bothering to change into my pajamas or even remove any clothing I crawled into bed. The blankets were thrown haphazardly over me by Sock and I muttered an indifferent thanks to him to which there was no response. And then I was out.

\---

I woke up the next morning to gentle poking in my side. I hadn’t ever woken up like this, so I was confused. Despite my drowsy head and my groggy body, I turned over to find Sock poking me in the side. 

“What?” I whispered to him, making sure to stay quiet so I didn’t potentially interrupt anyone’s sleep. Not that talking at a normal volume would interrupt anyone’s sleep, I just never knew how closely my mom was listening.

“I thought I’d wake you up before your alarm to save you some yelling.” Sock explained, pointing to the clock that indicated it was, indeed, 6:25. For a second I was disgruntled. The feeling of waking up before my alarm was not a pleasant one. Mostly because the loud noise was mostly what woke me up in the morning. But Sock was right. After yesterday, my mental state couldn’t hold much more yelling.

“Thanks, man.” I muttered before rolling toward the alarm clock and turning it off. I then rolled out of bed and decided I should at least change my pants, since they were wrinkled from sleep. Doing so I finished getting ready by grabbing my phone and my backpack. Flipping open my phone I noticed that all the messages from the previous day were gone. My phone was empty.

“Sock, did you delete my messages?” I asked, quiet about it and not sure whether I should be angry or grateful. Normally I would have been pissed, but based on what had occupied my phone I was kind of relieved. I had been looking forward to berating myself some more, to hurting my currently injured state. But Sock was preventing that. I needed that, though I didn’t want to admit it.

“Yeah. I didn’t like what they said about you, because it was all me.” Sock muttered, sounding more upset than he should have been. If Sock hadn’t already killed himself for killing his parents, I imagine he would have killed himself for doing this to me. Something about that thought was warming. 

“Thanks.” This earned me a small smile from my ghostly companion and I turned to open the door. Before I could Sock grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me around.

“Wait, I came up with an idea last night. To fix things with Marcus.” I wasn’t sure about this. His last plan had landed me at the lowest point in my life. But he hadn’t exactly had time to actually plan it out or think it through, so I supposed it was worth a listen.

“Okay.” I responded and Sock smiled just a bit more. It was a goofy, lopsided smile. Whether he was planning something or just genuinely happy, Sock always smiled the same way. 

“What if I revealed myself to Marcus?” At first, I was shocked. We had concluded it was against the rules for Sock to reveal himself to someone else. Plus, he had tried to become visible before but nothing had happened. He couldn’t figure out how to use that power. The other thing was that this could easily make my situation much, much worse.

“I dunno, Sock. You can’t make yourself visible to anyone else. And this could just turn out worse.” I muttered, looking down at my feet nervously, not sure if I liked the idea or not. It was the only one he had come up with, or the best one he had come up with. If it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be telling it to me.

“I know, but what if I just wrote on a piece of paper or held something up? He wouldn’t be able to explain it except a ghost.” I realized he was right. If Sock held something up with Marcus in the area, then he would have no other explanation. I thought about this for a second.

“Alright, but we need to do it outside, away from any buildings or trees, and with no one else around.” I responded and Sock gave me a confused look. “That way he can’t use invisible strings as an excuse and no one else sees it.” I clarified and he nodded, his face still a bit concerned.

“But what about his goonies? They’re the ones picking on you.” Sock pointed out. I nodded, since I had already figured this out.

“We’ll ask him to clear my name. If he’s okay with it, he can just say the person must have gotten away too quickly.” It was a stretch, but most everyone in school would believe something Marcus Briggs said. He was the Wall of Briggs. The most popular kid in school. Everyone listened to him. That was why they had all begun picking on me the instant he had gotten hurt and blamed me.

“I guess it’s worth a shot.” Sock agreed and we nodded at each other with determination. This was going to work, I kept telling myself as I headed down the stairs to get some breakfast.

“You’re up on time. And I didn’t even hear your alarm.” My mom was up before me, as usual, and in as bad a mood as usual. I don’t know how she managed to stay so negative about everything, but she did it and it had become a part of her. Sadly.

“Yeah, thought I’d get a head start.” It wasn’t really a head start since I had gotten up five minutes earlier than usual. This was obviously enough for my mom because she ignored me the rest of the morning.

The entire rest of the day was torture. It was the complete opposite of the usual, torture at home, quiet at school. Instead home had been quieter and school was the torture zone. 

Everyone spat insults at me when teachers weren’t looking. Hit me with papers, pencils, and sometimes even books. By the time lunch rolled around I was sticky and wet and bruised all over. Lunch was mostly quiet, as I tucked myself into a small corner in the library no one went into and ate my lunch so the librarians couldn’t see me.

I was relieved when the end of the school day rolled around and I swallowed my guts to approach Marcus Briggs. I was able to catch him out by his car with only a couple of friends. The instant they saw me they began spitting names and insults my way. I pushed through the deep sea of crap and walked right up to Briggs, who hadn’t said a word since he had spotted me.

“Hey, Briggs. Can I talk to you?” I asked over the sound of his friends’ jeering. They all protested and said Briggs didn’t need to talk to a low life locker beater like me. It was a stupid nickname, but they also shot out the same ‘kill yourself’ insults that bruised me on the inside. But I refrained from flinching. 

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere else.” I was instantly relieved at his cool response. He was the most accepting, nice guy at school, despite his intimidating size and shape. He didn’t mind hearing explanations or apologies, but it was still up to him whether he was going to accept them or not. As we walked away, Briggs’ gang continued to shout insults at me, yelling and shouting louder the further we got away.

I lead Briggs right to where Sock and I had planned: the middle of the football field. It wasn’t very far from the parking lot, had nothing above it except the goal posts both yards away from our position, and it was a comfortable location for Briggs. The perfect spot.

“What is it, Combs?” Marcus asked casually, putting his hands in his pockets in an extremely relaxed manner. Briggs was always in a good mood, even the previous day when he had hit me with the locker he had been in a good mood right before the events that had resulted in my bad reputation.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday and to tell you it wasn’t me. I know that’s hard to believe, but hear me out.” I said, watching Briggs raise an eyebrow as I protested my innocence. Quickly I slipped my bag off my shoulders and pulled out a pen and a notebook that I hadn’t touched the last pages of. I flipped it open, uncapped the pen, and handed them to Sock next to me. Sock took them willingly and began to write on the paper.

Briggs’ eyebrows shot up even higher.

“Combs, what is this?” He demanded softly, not in a seriously angry tone, but he did sound a bit as if he thought he was being duped. I held up my hands in an ‘I surrender’ pose, as if I had been threatened. 

“This is my friend. Um, he’s a ghost that was sent to haunt me until I killed myself. He’s not very good at his job.” I explained as Sock continued to write on the paper. I knocked sideways as Sock punched me in the shoulder, emphasizing it only to make it obvious I hadn’t shifted of my own accord. Briggs began to look more interested than confused.

Sock turned the paper around and faced it toward Briggs. The taller teenager squinted his eyes and looked down at it. For a moment I wondered what Sock had written and then Briggs straightened up.

“What does it say?” He asked me and I turned to look at it and realized why he was asking.

“Sock, you have the most atrocious handwriting.” I told him and he gave me a look and then punched me in the shoulder again. This time I let my shoulder shift the usual amount, enough to notice I had moved but not as if I was weak. 

“His name is Sock?” Briggs asked and I nodded as I grabbed the notebook from him and squinted at it. The pen still in his hand he crossed his arms.

“It says ‘hi, I’m Sock! Jonathan’s just kidding when he says I’m bad at my job.’ And I’m SO sorry I never really did that great in school.” Sock grumbled at me and I laughed. I was over exaggerating my interactions with Sock just a bit more than necessary. But it was working wonders on Briggs’ believing us.

I retold what Sock said the notebook said and Briggs nodded, a small smile crossing his face. It was working! I looked over at Sock, an excited look betraying my relief that this was actually working! He believed Sock was there and he was actually kind of interested in the whole thing. This was going better than I thought it would.

“Alright, so Sock was the one that slammed the locker into my head?” Briggs asked and crossed his arms, sounding a bit skeptical for the first time since I had told him about Sock. “Why would he do that?” He added with a small eyebrow raise. I sheepishly rubbed the back of my neck.

“He insulted my hair!” Sock declared loudly and I rolled my eyes at him. This was the first time Sock had been allowed to speak to another living human since meeting me, so he was getting lost in the whole thing.

“Sock, he can’t hear you.” I muttered pointlessly, hoping to emphasize his presence to Briggs even though the popular football player already believed me. I looked up at him and shrugged.

“I kind of insulted his hair.” I responded and this made Briggs chuckle and raise his eyebrows even more. Sock opened his mouth and got ready to say something but I reached out my hand and covered his mouth. Briggs looked really confused at this action. “He’s getting ready to defend his hair.” I told him and Briggs’ expression relaxed just a little, though he was still confused.

“Sock wears a beanie. I think it’s considered a beanie. He wears it to cover the crazy mess of hair on his head. It’s embarrassing to him and he doesn’t like people looking at it or making fun of it.” I explained to Briggs and Sock managed to push my hand off of his mouth.

“Then why did you insult it?” Briggs asked, curious to know why I had done something I knew would upset Sock. I shrugged and looked away.

“Because he’s always insulting me and I figured it wasn’t against the rules to insult him back.” Briggs nodded, clearly understanding my explanation. It was nice to get to tell these things to another person. The entire time Sock was trying to say stuff to Briggs but he wasn’t being heard. I was starting to get sick of hearing him talk.

“Sock, Briggs can’t hear you!” I shouted at him and he shut up, an injured look on his face. But he understood and crossed his arms in defiance. Still, he stopped talking and I was able to turn back to Briggs.

“Thanks for letting me know, Combs. This is a little weird, but kind of cool.” Briggs said, waving his hand at me and turning to leave. Sock nudged me in the arm and I took a step forward, making a move to grab his arm but restraining myself.

“Hey, Briggs.” I got his attention and he turned around. He seemed to speak using his eyebrows, since he raised one in a look that clearly ready ‘yeah?’ 

“Can you get everyone to back off of me?” I asked and Briggs’ look turned from one of curiosity to one of pain. “You can tell them whoever did it just got away too quickly.” I tagged on quickly and Briggs turned toward me, putting both his hands on my shoulders. It was a gentle touch, and I hadn’t expected such out of someone so big. 

“I’m really sorry about all of that, Combs. I didn’t expect them to attack you. I promise, I’ll get them to back off as soon as I can, alright?” Briggs promised and I realized I felt myself tearing up. I didn’t want to cry in front of him so I nodded and turned to look back at Sock, who was crying. I had to look away quickly and was shocked, but almost glad, when Briggs pulled me in for a hug. 

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered into my head. I was frozen in place. Did I hug him back? Did I just stand there? At that point, the tears really were coming down hard. They were mixed tears. Sadness, joy, and relief all flooded down my face and I felt myself give into it all at once. I appreciated the hug and the apology, so I wrapped my arms around Briggs and hugged him back. 

We stood like this for a minute before Briggs pulled back and wiped a small tear from the corner of his eye. I rubbed my face violently across my sleeves. 

“Thanks.” I said and Briggs turned around with a small wave of his hand. I waited for him to go before I, too, took myself in the direction I needed to go. Glancing at my phone I noticed that I still had twenty minutes before my parents would be at the school to talk with the principal. I didn’t know what to do with all that time, so I half wandered the school.

“Jonathan, that went amazing!” Sock exclaimed with glee, spinning in a circle before hugging me aggressively. I laughed and almost started crying again, but refrained from doing anything too emotional. 

“I’m so glad it worked. Thank you, Sock. Thank you so much.” I said, unable to hug him back because of the tight grip he had on my arms. I was pinned down, but I didn’t care a single bit. We had worked out a plan to get Briggs to tell everyone to back off. My life really was better because of Sock. 

Together we wandered in happy silence around the school. We took a turn and came around to the back behind the dumpsters. I passed between them to get by and was knocked back when a hard, sharp pain shot through my nose and into my head. It almost reawakened the headache I had gotten the previous night from crying myself to sleep.

“If it isn’t Combs.” The voice was dripping with sarcasm and evil, every word he said was drenched in the most high of all angers. It was ridiculous, one moment life was the best thing in the world, the next I wanted to die again.

“What?” I muttered, blinking rapidly to earn sight back in my eyes. When I did I found I was surrounded by three other guys, friends of Briggs. “Did Briggs not tell anyone yet? We cleared up the whole thing, it’s a bit misunderstanding.” 

They all scoffed and rolled their eyes. They didn’t believe me. I took a step back as they took a step forward. There was no way they couldn’t believe me. Briggs must not have gotten to telling anyone yet. I opened my mouth to protest again when another one socked me on the cheek.

“This is gonna be so much fun.” The third said, landing another solid hit to my face, black dots beginning to dance across my vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter!


	3. Burn the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan copes with life and tries to survive. For once his family shows their love for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while and might be short and choppy. But this is it guys!

“Guys, what’s going on? Hasn’t Briggs told you anything yet?” I protested desperately as the boys advanced on me, hitting my guts, side, face, and every body part they thought worthy of a hit. I ached all over, every blow just made it worse.

“Briggs ain’t told us nothing.” One of them said, throwing another hit toward my face again, further breaking the nose I knew was already broken. I tasted metal on my tongue, sticky and hot against the taste buds. It was disgusting. I was spitting it every time I spoke, one of my eyes was sealed shut by it crusting along my eyelid. I couldn’t escape their blows because there were too many of them, all coming at me at once.

Silently I cursed Briggs for not sending out a text immediately after our conversation. Why couldn’t he have done it sooner? Clearly he disliked the way people had been treating me, so why didn’t he want to solve the problem as soon as possible? 

Through the heat and the chaos and the black dots continuing to dance across my vision, I had lost all sight and sense of Sock. I couldn’t tell if he was even there. For a moment I concentrated on the area behind the boys, but the instant I did I was knocked immediately to the ground, my breath being knocked cleanly out of my lungs only to be replaced by the blood in my mouth.

I coughed and spluttered but the black dots kept coming, thicker and deeper than before. 

“S-stop.” I protested weakly, lifting my arms in a flimsy attempt to block anything coming. I felt a weight against my pelvis and warmth across my stomach, hands pressed against my wrists and I felt the biting sharpness of the concrete beneath them. Someone was straddling me and pinning me down. Why didn’t they just stop? 

I was having trouble breathing and I could no longer make out the words they were shouting at me, though I knew they were insulting me and threatening to kill me. The threats were empty, I knew they would stop before I died, only to allow me to live with my miserable self for a little longer. They wanted to have the satisfaction of me killing myself. 

Sock was horrible at his job, but these guys could easily take his place.

Slowly and surely I lost all consciousness, only barely aware of the warm body sitting on top of me and the bounding of my heart as it rushed blood to the areas of my body that were split open. And then everything went black and I lost all sense of being awake.

 

“J-Jonathan? Jonathan, please wake up.” Shivering sobs sounded beside me and I felt the world coming back to light. I had only the vaguest sense of being sore and tired, exhausted beyond all belief. What was most prominent was the sounds surrounding him. The one he heard the clearest was someone beside him, sobbing. 

“J-Jonathan? W-wake up.” It was soft, not the desperate cry of a mourning lover like in chick flicks or soap operas. My body began to register feeling and the first thing it felt was a numb poking and nudging. Someone was shaking me. The next thing that registered was the pain and it was everywhere.

I groaned loudly as the feeling returned from my toes to my head. I had a massive headache beating through my skull, splitting it into millions of small fragmented pieces, so small one wouldn’t be able to count them. My entire body ached, my face, my chest, my arms, my legs, even my stomach and pelvis area was sore. I was probably painted black and blue.

“Jonathan! You’re okay! I was afraid they’d gone too far.” The shaking stopped and instead I was bombarded with a light weight that felt like it hit me like a truck. I groaned again and the small weight lifted off of me. “Sorry.” The person whispered and I finally decided to open my eyes.

Blinking again the harsh light I looked directly above me to find the sky painted orange, pink, and red. The sunset was beautiful, but it hurt my eyes and I wanted it to go away. Blinking my eyes shut again I flinched at a bruise above my right eye. They were truly everywhere.

I finally managed to open my eyes enough to see a face above me, familiar but not quite enough to register a name. I assumed I knew him, but I didn’t know how.

“What happened?” I winced at the pain in my throat and the hoarse noise my voice made. How could I possibly be so injured? Everything was a woozy, hazy blur and all I remembered was being happy one second and miserable the next.

“Those guys beat you up and-“ The guy cut off and shuddered as if remembering a haunting memory. I imagined it was probably was pretty haunting, I was aching everywhere, they had done a number on me. Slowly I pushed myself into a seated position, the guy beside me helping me up. As soon as I was up I felt dizzy and sick, black dots dancing before my eyes. Blood rushed from my head to the rest of my body and instantly I remembered everything. 

Sock left his hand against my back, holding me in place so I didn’t further injure myself. Slowly I gained control over my own head and limbs. My arms were barely able to hold me up and even as they did they shook violently. Sock was doing most of the supporting and I was simply sitting there, looking around as the world tilted and shifted before me. 

They had definitely done some brain damage.

“Sock, help me up.” I said, trying to sound demanding. It failed miserably because of my weak voice and body. I slowly began to push myself up and Sock hastily grabbed for me to either help me up or just hold me in place. I really couldn’t tell.

“Jonathan, are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re not going to get very far.” He was such a worrier, though now more than ever. I didn’t understand him sometimes. He was supposed to be getting me to kill myself. Maybe he was just worried they were going to kill me and wasn’t sure if that fulfilled his contract. 

“I missed the meeting with the principle. My parents are going to be livid. I have to get home.” I don’t know why I insisted on getting home. Maybe my mind was delusional. Maybe I was just tired of running. But I was honestly liking the sound of being home than laying on the concrete between two dumpsters. 

Sock didn’t protest and helped me stand. The instant my legs had full support of me they buckled and I collapsed, knees thudding against the solid concrete. Grunting I dropped my hands in front of me to assist in holding myself up. Sock was beside me instantly, his hands shaking, warily hovering over me as if he might hurt me by trying to help.

“Why can’t I stand? Did they punch my legs or something?” I wondered aloud, not really expecting Sock to answer. There was no real answer, but the way Sock whimpered told me that wasn’t what had happened. What else could have possibly happened to make my legs so weak? I was half glad Sock didn’t try to answer, I was afraid he’d become a bumbling idiot if he even tried to speak.

With his help I was able to stand on my shaky legs, shuffling slowly toward the front of the school. It felt as if it took two hours before I was trudging along the main bus loop, Sock holding me up on my left side, legs shaking weakly as I moved. 

As I neared the exit, a car pulled up behind us and the passenger window rolled down to reveal the driver.

It was my dad.

“Your fly is down.”

How considerate of my father. I’d been missing for hours, was bruised and broken, and the first thing he says is my fly is down? Groaning I reached shakily toward the metal zipper and the jean material, pulling the zipper up with a bit of a struggle. The material was crusty, as if someone had spilled milk and let it dry. 

“Your mom is worried sick.” I looked back up at him, shock registering in my face as much as it possibly could with my entire face half swollen. He rolled his eyes and dropped his hands from the steering wheel to face forward. “You may be stupid, lazy, and dark as crap, but you’re still our son. Now get in the car before I leave you to walk home.” 

I obliged, trying hard to open the door. The first couple of attempts failed but the third worked, mostly because Sock helped me with the handle. I slid into the seat and practically sank to the floor. I didn’t bother with a seat belt and my dad didn’t say anything about me putting one on. He wanted me dead as much as the kids at school did.

The ride was entirely in silence, but I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. He was cranking out some complaint to the school or the world. Or possibly formulating a lecture to me about how stupid I was. I caught a sideways glance at him at one point to find he was grinding his teeth and glaring at the road ahead. He was clearly pissed at somebody. 

We pulled into the driveway to find all the lights turned on. As soon as the car pulled up the front door opened and my mom and Mary spilled out the front door to greet us. My mom was about to ask if my dad had found me – I could see it on her face – until she spotted the passenger door opening and she launched herself toward it.

The first thing she did was hug me. It hurt. A lot. Every bruise along my arms and torso were squished beneath her, pressed and poked to the point of sharp, jabbing pains coursing through my body. I attempted to convey my pain to her but it came out in grunts and groans and whimpers. 

When she finally pulled away her face was red with anger and she slapped me. Against the already present bruises and bumps it stung as if someone had stabbed me with a knife or I had been knocked against the concrete. She slapped me a second time, this time tears streaming down her face as she half yelled at me half sobbed at me.

“You stupid child! How dare you disappear like that without telling us!” I was on the verge of a sarcastic comment if I knew it wouldn’t cause me physical pain not only to speak but talk back to my mom. 

“Honey, look at him. He needs attention. Get him inside, quick.” The savior of the day was my dad, who had just stepped around the side of the car and was already turning my sister around to get her inside. I imagine he didn’t want her innocent eyes to look upon the ugly thing that was me. That would certainly scar her for life. 

My mom took a step back at his words and looked me over. I hadn’t gotten completely out of the car, my hand was still on the door, one foot inside the car and one out. The hand on the door and the foot outside the car shook violently with the strain and my mom gasped at the sight of my face. 

“Who did this to you? Jonathan, who did this to you!? I’m going to kill them!” My mom began to scream to the neighborhood at the top of her lungs about how she was going to kill whoever had beat me up. I didn’t think I would ever see the day that my mom was that concerned about me. I was wary that it would last very long. 

With her support on one side and Sock’s on the other I was able to shuffle inside better than when I had first gotten up. The bright lights inside hurt my eyes, but it was nice to be home, even though I hated it with a burning passion. 

I was lead toward the kitchen where my mom sat me down and gave me a once over in the light. Her eyes were still filled with tears but now she had on a look of pure rage. She was doing a marvelous job of keeping it in, I had never seen her control herself so well. 

“Daddy, what happened to Jonathan?” Mary’s voice came from the stairs and both my mom and dad whipped their heads in her direction. My dad stormed toward her and Mary screamed up the stairs.

“Don’t come down here! You are to stay in your room the rest of the night!” I watched with awe as little miss perfect was scolded for doing something wrong. I knew it was only because they were protecting her from me, but it was kind of nice to see. 

When my dad arrived near the table again my mom was crouching low to look me in the face. 

“I’ll need to strip him to assess all the damage.” My dad said, crouching next to me and lifting one of my arms over his shoulder. My mom shot up with a look of protest in her eyes.

“That is my son, if anyone’s assessing any damage it’s going to be me!” She insisted loudly, throwing her arms across her chest and widening her legs in a ‘you’re not getting passed me’ stance.

“He’s my son too. And, seeing as he’s a son, I believe it’s more appropriate if I look him over.” My mom was pushed aside as my dad passed her, her mouth flapping like a fish out of water. My parents were in rare form and I almost wished it would never end. 

Despite her protests, my mom allowed my dad to take me to their bathroom – it was bigger than the one upstairs (and it was downstairs) – and look me over there. I was barely able to assist with the removal of my own clothes, my arms too shaky to lift a shirt over my head and me legs too weak to drop pants off of my ankles. 

My dad assessed the damage with as straight a face as he could muster, but I could tell he didn’t like this. His fingers grazed my sides lightly, enough that I could feel it but not enough for it to hurt. He looked me up and down and I didn’t protest. It was odd having him pay so much attention to me, but I couldn’t think straight with the pounding in my head.

Once he had assessed the damage he stood and looked me in the eyes. The burning hatred for whoever had done this to me was fading from his eyes and I could see genuine pain replaced there. Without saying any words he turned from me and reached into the medicine cabinet to grab something from inside. From the shower he took a small washcloth and dabbed whatever was inside onto the towel and began dabbing at the cuts and bruises.

I hissed as the pain stung my side. I grabbed at his hand and he stopped to look up at me.

“Sorry, it’s going to sting.” He informed me belatedly. After all the pain I had already been through, I didn’t like the idea of having to go through more. But I knew what it was he had and I knew it was going to hurt but it was going to work. ¬¬¬

So I removed my hand and I stood as still as I could manage on my shaky knees. Forcing my thoughts off the pain and humiliation was hard, but I tried my best to do so. Sock floated into the room about ten minutes in but when he saw me he turned dark red and turned around again. I don’t know if he left because of the state I was in or for another reason, but I half wished he was there to talk to me, even if I didn’t respond to what he said.

I wanted him there.

“Alright, you should be good.” I flinched when he spoke, having forgotten completely what I had been doing. My dad stood straight and hesitantly put a hand on my shoulder, as if he might hurt me by doing so. “Jonathan, you can tell me anything, you know that, right?” He looked me in the eyes and for the first time I realized that I had gotten my eyes from him.

“Yeah.” I mumbled, half asleep as I said it. Gently he lowered me until I was sitting on the cold toilet seat. I flinched as I did so and he watched to make sure I was okay. Quickly he left the room and for a second I wondered where he was going, but stopped worrying only seconds after. Leaning against the back of the toilet I rested my head completely backward, facing the cold, white ceiling. 

“J-Jonathan?” Slowly, just above me, Sock’s face appeared, coming through the wall to look right into my face. I didn’t flinch at this but just watched him until he stopped moving to look right into my face. I didn’t have the energy to say anything so I just blinked up at him, the bandage near my eye crunched, making my flinch slightly. 

“Are you okay? You-you look awful.” He said, his pupils lingering slightly on my shoulders before they flicked back to my face as his cheeks flushed red. I blinked up at him and groaned as an answer and his worried look turned even more worried. I don’t know how that was even possible. 

The door to the bathroom opened then and Sock disappeared as if my dad could see him. Approaching me my dad offered a hand to help me stand and assisted in pulling the clothes over the bandages carefully. When we finished he helped me out of the room.

We found my mom pacing the kitchen with the phone in her hand. When she saw me she hurried over and mimicked my dad’s hands from earlier, hovering them over my body as if she wanted to hold me but she was afraid to hurt me. I was glad she decided not to touch me. 

“You’re staying home for the next week. We’ll see where you are after that, but you’ll still need to get as much work done as you can.” She said, waving the phone to indicate that was where she had learned this information. “But don’t push yourself.” She added after a pause. I nodded as much as I could manage and then she backed away, her face revealing the longing she felt to hug me.

With lots of struggling my dad helped me up the stairs to my room and laid me on my bed. I settled into a single position and resolved not to leave for several days. My dad turned to leave and hesitated at the door. But he didn’t say anything and turned to leave, closing the door lightly behind him.

I was vaguely aware of Sock entering the room and saying something, but I was asleep before I could register what he was saying.

 

I stayed home from school for a week, like my mom said I was going to. The long days were filled with sleep for the first three days until my dad came up and insisted I get up. I was able to make it down the stairs and eat food with my family and for once enjoyed a normal family. 

On the fifth day my dad dragged me out of bed and insisted I take a walk with him. I pulled on a grey sweatshirt and threw the hood up to cover my face but I walked with him anyway, shuffling along the street in almost complete silence. For the next two days he did the same thing until I appeared to be walking normally.

By the end of my assigned week I felt nearly better. I was still a bit sore, but I didn’t limp anymore and my face wasn’t nearly as disfigured as it had been earlier in the week. 

“Jonathan, do you feel up to going to school tomorrow?” My mom asked this as I sat on the couch watching TV the night before my return. I considered her question seriously. I didn’t want to go back, I knew there were going to be some people who still hated me and didn’t understand why Briggs forgave me. But I was almost perfectly sure Briggs would be able to solve the situation without fail. He was the nicest kid in school, I would be safe.

“Yeah.” I responded, acting smooth and as if it wouldn’t affect me like I knew it probably would. She smiled softly at this and I wondered what it was about the events of the past week that made them love me for once. 

I would be safe.

 

I told myself this as I got out of the car (my dad insisted on driving me to school) and faced the school for the first time in a week. Several face stared, but they seemed more in awe of something than angry. 

That was a good first step. 

“Alright. Stay safe. Have a good day.” My dad called this from behind me and I shot him a nervous glance before he rolled the window up and pulled away. I was not ready, I realized as I trudged toward the front door, Sock instantly in tow.

“Jonathan, this isn’t a good idea. You should go home. Maybe…maybe we could try that thing I suggested a week ago.” I paused a moment in my thoughts as Sock said this. What thing did he suggest a week ago? My mind couldn’t recall any suggestions from Sock from a week ago, but the entire week had been fairly hazy.

“What suggestion?” I asked under my breath, trying to look like I wasn’t talking to someone else because there was clearly no one beside me. Sock opened his mouth to respond but I was blindsided by something solid hitting the side of my face. 

I wasn’t safe.

“Yo, Combs, go kill yourself.” I didn’t get a chance to see who it was nor did I recognize the voice. The black dots danced across my vision as my legs gave out underneath me and voices around me laughed and jeered. 

What had happened? Briggs was supposed to tell everyone to back off, so why were there still people out to kill me?

As I stood I looked Sock in the face and his eyes were filled with tears and worry. 

“Jonathan, don’t do this to yourself. Go home. Please.” He insisted, glancing around at the angry faces around me. I suddenly felt claustrophobic. Surrounded with nowhere to go, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I was alone with only Sock and the space we occupied was far too small.

As I continued to walk voices shouted incomprehensible jeers and names. The only words I heard were ‘die’ and ‘kill’. Every person in that hallway wanted me dead, they wanted me gone. I was better if I hadn’t even existed, they all said, hating me.

How could this all have happened because I insulted Sock’s hair? 

“It was just a stupid locker.” I whispered to myself, fighting the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. The threatened to spill over, but I refused to let them. I could cry in private, that was okay. But in front of people? That was just giving them more reason to tease me, taunt me. It was proof what they were doing was working and was only encouragement.

But I didn’t walk with my head up just in case I did cry.

With a thud I ran face first into a solidly built human being. I was deathly afraid of who I was going to be faced with. Anyone would readily kill me for something as trivial as bumping into them because I was fighting listening to what people were saying.

“I’m so, so sorry. I’ll watch where I was going next time-“ I rambled these words out quickly as I shot my face up toward whoever it was to apologize. I froze in place when I realized it was Briggs. All at once I felt the tears reaching their limit and my fear cracking the surface. 

“Jonathan?” I looked him in the eyes and the same worry there was the worry I saw when I looked at Sock or anyone of my family members. He cared about me. 

“Briggs.” I didn’t mean to whisper it, but anything louder threatened to push the tears over the edge. But just looking at him was threatening enough and I had to dodge away and toward the bathroom nearby.

I was a sobbing school girl the instant I reached an empty bathroom stall. Sock was beside me, speaking rapidly and trying to console me, telling me it would be fine, that I could go home and we could try what he had suggested. I shook my head and sobbed into my hands, avoiding saying anything to looking at him.

“Jonathan?” I only heard the voice because it echoed in the bathroom and wasn’t Sock’s. I froze instantly, listening for it again. When it didn’t speak I sniffed and the stall door swung slowly open. Briggs stood before me, expression soft. I hadn’t ever had a friend at school but Briggs was the closest thing I had and I realized this as he stood before me.

I launched myself at him and clung to his solid frame. He stiffened instantly, obviously not used to this kind of affection. But I didn’t move and just held him closer and tighter, my arms aching at the effort. Slowly I felt him melt into it and he laid his hands on my back. I flinched at this and he lifted his arms. Slowly I backed away and he looked down at me.

“What was that?” He asked, looking down at my face, his expression turning from worried and upset to worried and angered. There was still a remnant of a bruise on my face and there was a small scar forming across the bridge of my nose. “What happened?” The voice he used was not as soft as the one previously. It was more demanding and angry and I realized how much of my dad I could see in Briggs.

“A few guys beat me up.” I muttered, looking straight at his chest, avoiding eye contact with him. I saw him tense up and he stormed out of the room. Frozen where I was, I watched him leave, afraid of what to do next.

When the bell rang I flinched, jumping almost a foot into the air. 

“I can do this.” I told myself, leaving the room and heading toward my first class.

I did it.

The day was long and hard and tiring. I went to every class and took notes and paid attention to the lessons and what the teachers said. Several teachers expressed concern for my extended absence but I put down their worries by telling them I was fine.

I wasn’t.

Everyone laughed and jeered at me whenever they got the chance. Some threw books, some pencils and pens. I ached more than the previous day when I had gone on a long walk with my dad. Sock continually insisted I go home early and skip out on school. I was tempted to listen to him. But I managed to survive the day at school.

I didn’t enjoy it.

I ran home. I didn’t stop to look back as people threw books and pencils and papers and shouted names and told me to kill myself. My feet didn’t stop even though my legs insisted I did. I wasn’t aware of Sock beside me, but I knew he was there.

As soon as I reached the house I slammed the door behind me and threw my backpack across the room. 

No one was home.

In the deathly silence I listened to the clattering glass from the picture frame my backpack had knocked over. It was almost satisfying to hear the sound. The clink of the glass, the satisfying thud of my backpack.

And then I went crazy.

I screamed at the top of my lungs and flung my arms left and right, pushing things over, throwing things off furniture. I made a huge mess as I did this, but the feeling of screaming and pushing things over and wrecking the house felt good. I could take my anger out on something physical and I felt myself calming down the longer I screamed.

When I was done I looked at the mess I had made, panting heavily and angrily. Then with a final scream I ran up the stairs and slammed the door, sobbing and sliding down the other side, crouching into a small ball.

I sat like this for what felt like hours, alone, in the silence of the house. The only sound was my breathing and it was broken and shaky. 

“Jonathan?” I had completely forgotten Sock. Looking up I found him crouching in front of me, his face straight, his eyes dry. He didn’t look at all concerned or worried, nothing seemed to be frightening him. He was entirely calm. 

Slowly he pulled something out from behind his back and held it out in front of me. I gasped softly and pushed myself further back against the door away from the kitchen knife Sock had presented to me.

“Sock? What is this?” I asked, suddenly forgetting entirely about the situation I was in and suddenly frozen in place by socks unspoken proposal. It glinted in the light that came sparingly through my blinds and it seemed to be calling to me. 

“It’s a knife. I suggested this a week ago. You said ‘maybe’.” Sock explained, pushing it closer to me, offering for me to take it. Hypnotized by its blade I took the handle and held it before me. Sock scooted closer. “You’ll need to hit right here.” He said, pressing his finger against the spot he was referring to. 

“Sock, I don’t know if I want to do this.” I whispered to him, flinching when I heard the front door open.

“Jonathan?!” Mary was home, standing just inside the front door, looking over the damage I had done. I couldn’t see her, but I knew that was what was happening.

“We can stay together, Jonathan. I’m the only person who has ever liked who for the entire time I knew you. Come with me. We can be happy together.” Sock insisted, trying to drag my attention away from my sister’s voice. 

I stared at the knife and pressed the tip against the spot Sock had indicated, testing the feeling of it there. It almost felt right, the sharp jab of it through my sweatshirt. Looking up I gazed into Sock’s eyes and in them was this thirst for me. I had never seen this look in anyone’s eyes before.

“Jonathan!” Mary shouted frantically from the floor below me and I heard her footsteps thumping up the stairs toward my room.

“Jonathan.” Sock whispered, pressing his hand against the handle of the knife right as I plunged it into myself, feeling the burning pain lick across my chest, feeling the sticky heat of blood as it began to pour over my hands, my head got thick and fuzzy and soon I saw black dots dancing before my eyes.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Sock’s face, a smile gracing it gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bows* Fin


End file.
